Monsters Old and New
by Phantom Rosabelle
Summary: The letter writer has turned his attention to Sharon, and he's no longer content to make empty threats. Meanwhile, Rusty is confronted with a face from his past that he would rather forget.
1. Trust

**Monsters Old and New  
**

**rosabelle**

**Chapter I: Trust**

**September 2nd**

**5:44 PM**

_Dear Sharon._

Rusty read the letter twice. It was brief, a single sentence written in a familiar hand.

Sharon watched him silently from behind her desk, her expression unreadable.

"Know that I didn't want to show you," she said at last. Her voice, too, told him nothing of what she was thinking. "But you would've found out sooner or later, and I—I... well, now you know."

There was the stutter, and there was the smallest of small hitches in her breath. Rusty glanced down at the letter once more, then took a second look at her face. She wasn't impassive, he realized. She was afraid.

And that, more than anything else, terrified him because he had never seen fear on her face. He looked away.

"What happens to me now?"

It had to be asked, though he dreaded the answer.

"You're going nowhere."

Rusty raised his head. She sounded almost firm enough for him to believe her. "I thought Emma would've—"

"I don't care what Emma wants," Sharon said bluntly. "I care about what you need, and what you need is to be kept safe."

"But—"

"See what happens if anyone tries to take you from me."

The corners of her eyes lifted in the faintest of smiles. Not reassured, Rusty set the letter on her desk. He found he couldn't look away from it.

_Dear Sharon._

Rusty swallowed.

"I'm sorry," he whispered. "I never wanted any of this."

"_Do not_ apologize." The vehemence in her voice took him aback.

"But..." Rusty smoothed the letter beneath his hands. "You didn't sign up for this."

"I've been doing this a long time, honey," she said gently. She reached across her desk to tug the letter from him. "You think this is the first—or even the worst—threat I've ever gotten?"

"Yeah?" he challenged. "Because you worked with so many murderers in internal affairs?"

Sharon slid the letter into a drawer. Out of sight was not out of mind, and Rusty breathed no easier.

"Yes, actually, I did."

"Really?"

"Really." She sounded almost amused. "What did you think I did?"

"I dunno." Rusty shrugged. "I thought you just, like, watched the other officers on the cameras or something."

Sharon actually laughed. It was strained, and she rubbed her thumb against her other fingers in that way she did when she was worried about something, but it was a laugh nonetheless. "That's not how FID works, no. We saw our fair share of criminals, too."

The lines around her mouth tightened suddenly, and the smile she offered him was strained. "It was only that the criminals and the police officers were often one and the same."

"Sharon?"

"I am fine," she said, in a voice he'd come to learn meant that she wasn't at all, and cleared her throat with her fist pressed to her mouth. "But none of that is really relevant now, and—"

"Why do you always do that?"

"Do what, exactly?"

"You make me tell you everything," he said. "Which, okay, I get it, and I know I should've told you about the letters and I'm really sorry about that, but—you never talk about yourself, not really."

She considered that a moment, arms folded. Then she pushed her glasses up the bridge of her nose and said, "You really should have told me about the letters. You're right about that."

Rusty sighed.

"But," she added softly, "it's true that I am private about many things."

"That's not fair."

He waited for a "you should know by now that life isn't fair" or maybe another "you are the child in this relationship". What he got was an, "Okay."

He stared at her in surprise.

"Contrary to what many people believed, I did not actually enjoy investigating my fellow officers. That was often very... difficult," she said. "But it had to be done, even if it was unpleasant. Occasionally, it was _very_ unpleasant."

"That's all I get?" he pressed, when she didn't elaborate. "Come on, you have to tell me more than that."

She gave him a long look.

"I trusted, admired, and respected my FID officers," she said, and a look of unbearable sadness touched her face before she controlled it. "I also arrested my favorite detective for murder in the first degree. And _that_ is all you get."

"That must've been hard," he said. He was still intensely curious, but there was a note of finality to her tone and he knew better than to ask again. Maybe someone else would tell him the story.

"Oh yes," she said, pursing her lips. "Back to the matter at hand, I have some additional... concerns about these letters of ours."

"That there were no fingerprints on them, you mean?"

"That, and..." She trailed off mid-thought, her eyes straying to the window overlooking the murder room.

Rusty twisted around in his chair to look too. It was a perfectly ordinary scene. Lieutenant Provenza worked a crossword and ignored Detective Sykes. Lieutenant Tao cradled the phone between his shoulder and his ear, typing furiously away at his computer and speaking to Detective Sanchez. Lieutenant Flynn was bent over his desk, and Buzz was in his corner with two computers in front of him.

He saw nothing unusual there, but Sharon's face furrowed in worry as she took it in.

"What's wrong?"

"It's nothing," she said, but nothing in her voice reassured him. Her troubled expression deepened the longer she watched.

"You said you'd never lie to me, Sharon."

She winced. "I did, didn't I?"

"You did," he said. "So tell me."

"I trust these people too," she told him. "And I don't want to alarm you."

The edge of Sharon's desk dug into his forearms when he leaned forward. "Why? Did you figure something out?"

"This letter that I received—" She tapped her finger against the drawer she'd stowed it in. "It is postmarked the day I was informed of the other threats against you."

"I don't understand."

"So," she said, "I would very much like to know _how_ our mystery writer knew to address this letter to me instead of to you."

"Oh," he said, and sat back in understanding. Sharon's gaze landed on the murder room again, and he turned for another look "You think that—"

She shook her head. "No. I don't believe it's one of them."

That did little to alleviate the sick feeling in his stomach. Rusty swallowed against it, but it only grew the more he thought on it. "You're sure?"

"As sure as I can be," Sharon said. "I believe we're looking for someone close to but not in this department, or someone in the district attorney's office and for whatever it's worth, I think the latter is more likely."

"You're not just saying that because you like everyone here?"

"No, I'm not," she assured him. "If nothing else, I can trust that no one here wants Phillip Stroh walking the streets a free man."

That, at least, he could believe, and Rusty felt marginally better. You had to know how to read people, doing what he'd done, and he'd learned to read everybody here. He'd learned to like them.

"So... what do we do now?"

Sharon surprised him by smiling. "Now Lieutenants Flynn and Provenza are going to take you to dinner."

He stared. "What?"

"There's someone I need to speak to after I leave here today. Until we get this sorted out, I want you close to me. And when that isn't possible, I want you with people I can trust to keep you safe. I told them burgers were fine, and to let you have as much soda as you wanted."

To his utter surprise, Rusty heard himself laugh, and he thought Sharon relaxed to hear it.

"You really think you can get to the bottom of this?" he asked her.

"If it's the last thing I do," she promised, rising. "If you make it home before I do, they'll wait with you at the apartment, all right? Don't let them talk you out of doing your homework."

He hugged her hard before he left, his arms all the way around her and his face buried in her shoulder. It was still strange, this sort of thing, but it was getting easier and Sharon held him tight.

Her thumb grazed his cheek when she released him, and she gave him a tiny nod. "Trust me," she murmured. "Now go and have a good time, okay? I shouldn't be too late, and you're safe with us around."

But was _she _safe with him around? That was the question that gnawed at Rusty as he left the station later with the lieutenants, and worry weighed like a stone in his stomach.

_Dear Sharon,_

_What will he do without you? _

_Sincerely,_

_A Friend_


	2. Threat

**Warnings:** Sorry, guys. This was originally the first chapter and when I wrote the other one, I forgot to put the warnings in. So please be aware that later chapters will discuss Rusty's history specifically and the sexual abuse of children more generally, and if reading that is upsetting or triggering to you, you may want to not proceed any further.

**Additional Notes: **Thank you everyone for your lovely feedback on the first chapter! This is actually my first time writing a mystery/suspense plot (my goal here is for the reveal later to seem like I thought it up logically, instead of picking the villain because I was watching TV while writing and recognized the actor when he guest starred on another police show and went "oh, why not him?") so your comments were encouraging. :)

Also I didn't include anything that I know to be factually incorrect about police procedure or the law, but my knowledge comes almost entirely from Wikipedia, TVTropes, and other police procedural shows, so... uh, let's just assume in advance that I've taken significant liberties with both.

I should have chapter three up Friday or Saturday at the latest.

**Monsters Old and New**

**rosabelle**

**Chapter II: Threat**

**September 2nd**

**10:17 PM**

"I should've killed him."

There were many qualities Sharon had learned to appreciate in Brenda Leigh Johnson, and presently she was lamenting them all. The woman had remained still just long enough to let the doctors stitch up her shoulder. Then, the second her husband had arrived with a change of clothes, she'd dressed herself and marched across the hall, where she'd proceeded to spend the next twenty minutes pacing barefoot in agitation, hovering over Sharon, and soundly refusing all orders to _sit down_, for God's sake.

From her bed, Sharon massaged the back of her neck and watched silently. Sometimes Brenda needed to be contained. Sometimes it was best to stand back and let her steamroll everything in her path. Right now, Sharon was content to let her get it out of her system.

Fritz Howard was of a similar mind. He sat in a chair near the door looking none too pleased, and kept a hand close to his gun despite the uniformed officer standing guard outside.

If nothing else, her nerves could use the distraction and she could hardly call Lieutenant Tao back five minutes after she'd last spoken to him to ask if the car had been found yet.

Sharon glanced at her wrist out of habit, but her watch was gone. Her left arm was bare and bruised, her

right was stitched and bandaged. There was a sharp ache in her hipbone from where weight had been thrown against the seatbelt clasp, and the belt itself had drawn blood from her neck.

Her hands hadn't stopped trembling for an hour afterwards, but she was only bruised and not broken.

The wall clock told her that forty-five minutes had passed since she'd called Rusty. He should be here soon, then, and then she meant to dress herself and walk out of here.

"You sure it's a good idea to leave, Captain?" Fritz sounded skeptical as he looked her over. "Couldn't hurt to let them keep you for observation."

"You look pretty banged up, Captain," Brenda agreed. "Sharon. You should take it easy."

Irony was often lost on Brenda.

"You were shot."

"Grazed," Brenda said. "I was grazed, and I'm fine, and I'm goin' home tonight."

"As am I." Sharon closed her eyes, reaching to rub her neck again. She could sleep a thousand years. "The doctor said I was cleared to go home, and that's what I intend to do."

"You're sure that's safe?" Brenda fussed at her. "Y'all are welcome to spend the night with us, but considerin' what happened to Rusty the last time I brought him home with me, he might feel better if you stayed with someone else."

"This may seem unlikely, given what we discussed earlier, but have you considered that maybe this was an attack on you?" Sharon asked. "We were in your car. You were hit."

"I don't irritate serial killers for a livin' anymore," Brenda said. "Don't go makin' this all about me."

"Lieutenants Flynn and Provenza cleared the apartment when they brought Rusty there to get me a change of clothes," Sharon said. "Two uniformed officers will stand guard at the door until we return home. We will be fine."

"Should've killed him," Brenda muttered again. "Should. Have. Killed. Him. Ooh, I should've—"

"Brenda," Fritz said wearily. "Honey. Please sit down."

Sharon opened her eyes in time to see Brenda round on him. He held up his hands; she glared at him. Then, with a wordless sound of frustration, she stamped her foot and returned to pacing—but silently, and with her good hand rubbing the back of her neck.

Sharon exchanged an exasperated look with Fritz. He shook his head.

Time to wrangle her in.

"I," Sharon said, gingerly turning her head towards Brenda, "would have been very unhappy had my first act as head of Major Crimes been to arrest you for manslaughter, so I, for one, am glad that you did _not_ kill him."

That, at least, annoyed Brenda into standing still for two seconds and she turned her glare on Sharon.

"Don't flatter yourself. I've arrested people I like far more than you."

"If it makes you feel any better, she did say it would've made her very unhappy," Fritz said.

Brenda sputtered at them both in outrage.

"This _woman_," she said to Fritz.

He cracked a smile. Another moment, another look between them, and they broke into desperate, shaky laughter.

Sharon's smothered chuckle turned into a sharp pain and a muffled groan. Wincing, she pressed a hand to her ribs. "Don't make me laugh."

"Are you okay?" Brenda moved towards her. "Do you need some water? Fritzy, get her some water."

"I am fine." Sharon held up a hand when Fritz started to rise. "Thank you, Agent Howard."

"Okay," Brenda said, and she did seem calmer now. "Okay okay, you're right. I know. Just—he makes me so _mad. _You could've been killed."

"I could have been, but I wasn't," Sharon told her. "I'll be fine, and now I need you to tell me who knew where we were going to dinner."

"Besides him?" Brenda nodded towards Fritz. "I might've mentioned it to Andrea. And—"

She stopped suddenly, pressing both hands to her face with a groan.

Fritz leaned forward. "What is it?"

"David Gabriel?" Sharon finished softly.

Brenda bit her lip. "No. He didn't conspire to kill you."

She sounded near tears.

"I don't believe that he did." Sharon reached to lay a reassuring hand on Brenda's arm. "But I need to speak with him, Andrea Hobbs, and anyone else who knew where you were going."

"Tomorrow. First thing."

"Thank you."

Brenda smiled at her, strained and teary. "I'm sorry we were hit from the passenger side."

Sharon's hand slid from Brenda's elbow down to her wrist. Her heartbeat pulsed angrily against Sharon's fingers. "It wasn't your fault."

"Sharon?"

She realized how worried she'd been that something would happen to Rusty on his way here only when he rushed into the room and relief enveloped her like a wave. He went straight to her side and she reached for him with her free hand.

He stood beside her bed, clutching a paper bag in his hands. His eyes were wide in horror, and he flinched away from her touch.

"It's all right," she murmured, and withdrew her hand. "I'm okay."

"I'm sorry," he whispered, and before he looked away she saw that his eyes were bright with tears. "Sharon, I'm so, so sorry."

"Oh, Rusty. You can't blame yourself for this."

"This is all my fault."

"It certainly was not," she said firmly. She sat slowly, with Brenda's help. "You brought me something to wear?"

"In here." He held up the bag.

Motion drew Sharon's eye back to the doorway.

"Hey, Captain." Lieutenant Flynn rapped on the doorframe. "Chief. Agent Howard."

Behind him, Sharon saw Lieutenant Provenza walking up the hall at his usual sedate pace.

"Hello, Lieutenant."

Flynn glanced from one to the other. "Is everybody okay in here?"

"We are fine," Sharon said firmly.

"Good." Provenza had joined Flynn in the doorway. "Now will someone please tell me what in the hell happened?"

**September 2nd**

**7:35 PM**

"You didn't have to take me to dinner," Brenda said, studying the menu with a frown. "Somewhere so nice, too."

"I needed to speak with you," Sharon said. "Outside of our offices. And they have great tiramisu."

Brenda eyed her, then flipped the page to read the dessert selection. "Ooh, chocolate mousse."

"Think of it as an apology," Sharon said. "I've noticed that you're more receptive to bad news when there's food nearby."

"And what do you need to apologize for?" Brenda was still hesitating over the menu. "What bad news? Is the chicken alfredo any good?"

"Delicious." Sharon pursed her lips. "I may have been wrong about something."

"Oh?" Brenda's voice lifted in interest. She glanced up from her menu. "Well, I sure am sorry to hear that, Captain."

She wouldn't be smiling for long.

"When you were investigating Phillip Stroh," she began in a low voice, and sure enough, Brenda's smirk rapidly faded, "I said there was no evidence that he was working with a partner."

"No," Brenda breathed. "Nonono. You're _not_ tellin' me this."

"There have been letters," Sharon went on. "Sent to Rusty, and now to me."

She kept the story to the relevant details, picking at her salad while Brenda ate half a basket of breadsticks.

"And you've nothing to go on? No physical evidence?"

"Some of the letters smell faintly of cigarettes. But otherwise, no, and there's one more thing that bothers me."

"What could possibly make this worse?"

"The first letter I received was postmarked the day we were notified of the ongoing threats against Rusty."

Brenda buried her face in her hands. "Dammit," she muttered. "Dammit, dammit, _dammit_."

"Precisely."

"Okay," Brenda said, voice muffled through her fingers. "Let me think a minute."

"I know this is difficult to hear."

"No worse than the first time," Brenda said, voice bleak. She ran a hand through her hair. "There's a leak. _Again._ Or worse, someone from the DA's office sendin' them directly. I do not like investigatin' my own people."

"Nor do I," Sharon agreed. "Has anyone spoken to you about the case?"

"No." Brenda shook her head. "No one who had no reason to ask."

Sharon gave her a pointed look. "And you've had no contact with Phillip Stroh yourself since the day of his arrest?"

"Trust me, Sharon, I never want to see that man's face again as long as I live."

It was a testament to the fact that Brenda actually _had_ changed somewhat that when their food arrived, she picked up her fork and began to eat instead of barreling out of the restaurant to launch her own investigation.

"I'll look into it," she promised. "Now if you don't mind, this all looks delicious and I don't know if I'll be able to stomach it if you keep talkin'."

"Of course," Sharon said, taking a sip of water. "So how is Agent Howard? They've been sending us Morris lately."

Brenda did the better part of the talking, but by the time they strolled out into a pleasantly cool evening, Sharon found that despite everything, she'd enjoyed herself. If someone had told her that the woman she'd met the night of Sergeant Gabriel's officer-involved shooting would be her best friend five years later... She would've had some trouble believing it.

Brenda's car was warm, and Sharon slipped off her blazer before buckling her seatbelt.

"Well, thank you for dinner, Captain."

"It was my pleasure." Sharon cleared her throat. "Chief."

Brenda gave her a sidelong look before pulling out into traffic. Sharon smiled serenely back at her, and Brenda laughed. "I guess it's no wonder no one believes we're friends."

"I do believe there are other reasons for that," Sharon said dryly. "I hardly see you, for one."

"Hey, if that's about how I cancelled lunch last week—"

"That was two weeks ago. And something came up, I know."

"Something important," Brenda complained. "No one ever remembers the important part."

If Sharon hadn't felt her phone vibrate, they could've argued about Brenda's priorities all the way to the freeway. She reached to fish it out of her purse.

The text was from Rusty. He'd sent her a picture of himself with the lieutenants and Buzz, seated before a small mountain of fries. She was happy to see that he was smiling—she'd been worried what effect of their conversation earlier would have on him.

_Glad you're having fun,_ she sent back._ Will be home soon._

Many things happened next.

Brenda took a left turn towards the entrance to the freeway.

Sharon bent to replace her phone.

From Brenda, there was a sharp intake of breath.

Glass rained down on them.

There was the squealing of tires, the crunching of metal, and the car spun, hit from the passenger side.

Sharon was flung painfully against her seatbelt and then backwards into her seat.

When they came to a stop, Brenda was shouting and they were both bleeding.

**September 3rd**

**12:04 AM**

She'd never been happier to be home.

It was an instinctual thing. Crossing the threshold didn't lesson her discomfort. By that point, she was leaning more heavily on Lieutenant Flynn's arm that she would've liked, and lowering herself shakily onto the couch only caused an entirely different set of muscles to ache.

But—just being here, in her own home, on her own couch, loosened some of the tension in her shoulders, and she took a moment to close her eyes. Rusty, too, seemed to breathe easier.

"Thank you, Lieutenants," she told them. "I will see you in the morning."

"Provenza and I could—"

"We have work to do," Provenza grumbled at him. "And I don't sleep on couches."

She was delighted to hear Rusty's muffled snort of laughter, and she suppressed a smile of her own. "That won't be necessary. The protection detail outside is more than enough."

She paused. "But my car is still parked at the station, so if you wouldn't mind..."

She'd anticipated a protest, there, but none was forthcoming. But then again, Flynn had once come in hours after having thirty stitches put into his arm and Provenza just shrugged.

"We'll send a car to pick you up," he said. "Get some rest, Captain. We'll find you something to work with in the morning. Maybe we'll have the moron himself waiting for you in an interview room."

"Who knew you were such an optimist?" Flynn joked, as he followed Provenza out the door. "Night."

"Night," she echoed, shaking her head after them.

Rusty locked the door, and then came around to help her stand. The stiffness was beginning to settle into her now.

"I'm okay," she murmured, when he hesitated to release her arm. "Just sore."

"Are you sure?"

"I'm sure," she said gently. She touched his shoulder and tried not to sigh when, again, he shrugged off her hand. "Go to bed, honey. Try to get some rest."

He scoffed at that.

"Rusty."

"I—" He looked away. "I'm glad you're okay."

"So am I," she said. "Now, I mean it. Go to bed."

He went to his room and she to hers, to long-awaited sleep.


	3. Suspect

**Notes: **Sorry for the wait, everyone. I rewrote this chapter a few more times than I'd planned on. XD But while it was pissing me off, I wrote most of the next one so that'll be up around Wednesday. Thank you for your comments and your patience!

**Monsters Old and New**

**rosabelle**

**Chapter III: Suspect  
**

**September 3rd**

**8:40 AM**

Sharon entered the murder room to protests and disconcerted looks from her team. She gave them a tight-lipped smile and went to stand before the white board. Everything ached still, but she was so accustomed to wearing heels that she would've felt more unbalanced in flats. She'd spent extra time on her makeup that morning and made sure that her injuries were all well-covered beneath pants and the highest collared blouse she owned.

Their expressions said she needn't have bothered. No one was fooled.

"Take my seat, Captain."

"Thank you, Amy, but that won't be necessary."

Those troubled glances again. She opened her mouth to end them once and for all, but Provenza of all people beat her to it.

"Enough," he said. "She's old enough to act like a damned fool if she wants to."

"Thank you, Lieutenant." Sharon inclined her head to him. He waved off her thanks and rolled his eyes, clearly of the opinion that she shouldn't be here, either. "Someone bring me up to speed."

"We have a BOLO out on the car and the driver based on your and Chief Johnson's description," Detective Sanchez said, after a beat of uneasy silence. "So far nothing's turned up. We're checking into Stroh's visitors in prison and anyone he may have had contact with."

"It might surprise you to know he's not very popular," Lieutenant Tao added. "His only visitor has been his mother but her last visit was at the beginning of August, and he hasn't made any phone calls."

That was what Sharon had expected to hear. Phillip Stroh would know to be more careful than that. The one time he'd been rash had been the time they'd caught him, and he was smart enough not to make that mistake again.

She remembered what Rusty had looked like the first time she'd seen him, his torso covered in deep scratches and his face battered. And the second time, on crutches with his leg sliced up. She could still see the scar that knife had left.

She'd read both Rusty and Brenda's statements regarding the events of that night, closely and more than once. When he'd received the first letter, she'd had nightmares of going to wake him for school and finding him in bed with his throat slit and his sheets dark with blood.

She'd slept almost soundly the night she received her own letter. Sharon had been threatened and harassed since the day she'd joined FID. It was familiar territory. Threatening her children, though... it had happened before, but that was one of the things she never got used to.

There was a sudden tightness in her throat.

Sharon swallowed against it, and stared long and hard at the sketch affixed to the white board. She hadn't seen the driver, only the car. It was a blurry memory of an SUV speeding away, dark green or black. Tinted windows. Maybe a Subaru but she couldn't be sure.

Brenda had seen his face, though, even if only for an instant and in the shadow of a hat pulled low over his forehead. Sharon narrowed her eyes at the sketch as if she could place him in her memory, but he was an unremarkable young man. White, mid-to-late twenties, dark blond or light brown hair.

She was certain she'd never seen him before, but maybe Rusty would recognize him. She wasn't sure if she should hope that he did or pray that he didn't.

"Mornin', y'all."

That was Brenda, of course, and she came striding into the murder room with Andrea Hobbs and a deeply uncomfortable David Gabriel in tow. Her arm was in a sling, but otherwise she was dressed in something predictably pink and floral, and wearing that hard-set determination that they knew well.

It did Sharon's heart good to see her. "Chief Johnson."

Gabriel cleared his throat. "Hey, guys."

"Gabriel," Flynn responded curtly. His tone softened when he looked at Brenda. "How're you feeling, Chief?"

"Just fine, thank you, Lieutenant." Brenda smiled sweetly, but hovered protectively near Gabriel just the same. "What do we have?"

"Very little." Sharon frowned at the board, then tapped the sketch of their suspect. "Do either of you recognize this man?" she asked Gabriel and Andrea.

"Afraid not."

"Never seen him before." Gabriel looked like he would very much like to add, "Can I go now?"

"If the two of you would take a seat in the conference room, Chief Johnson and I will be along momentarily," Sharon said.

"Look," Flynn said, after they'd gone. "I'm hardly Gabriel's biggest fan, but why is he here? He's an idiot, not a killer."

"Andy," Brenda said sharply.

"I say I _don't_ think he did it, and you get mad."

"He's not here as a suspect," Sharon said. "He and DDA Hobbs are here because they worked closely with Chief Johnson leading up to the arrest of Phillip Stroh, and they continue to work closely with her."

"Captain Raydor?" Chief Taylor stepped into her line of sight. "I heard you'd come in this morning, but are you really sure that—" He stopped mid-sentence when his eyes landed on Brenda. "What are _you_ doing here?"

"It's so good to see you too, Commander." Brenda waved with her good hand. "I mean, Chief. I'm here as a witness. And a victim."

Taylor stared. "You're joking."

"'fraid not."

"I was with Chief Johnson in her car at the time of the incident," Sharon said. "We have not eliminated the possibility that she was the intended target of the attack."

Taylor didn't look pleased. "It had to be the two of you."

Sharon suspected that the cough behind her was Detective Sanchez trying to hide a laugh.

"But it's good to see you," Taylor added gruffly. "Whatever you need, Captain. Whatever you need."

Sharon nodded to him. "Thank you, Chief."

"If I didn't know better, I'd say he liked us," Brenda murmured to her after he left. "Well, Captain. Shall we?"

"Let's." Sharon narrowed her eyes and looked at each member of her squad in turn. "You find me the minute you learn anything, understood?"

Their chorus of assent followed her as she and Brenda made their way to the conference room. Sharon shut the door firmly behind them and lowered herself carefully into a chair beside Andrea. Her legs were grateful for the relief, though the muscles in her abdomen strained.

Brenda and the stone-faced Gabriel sat across from her.

"Relax, please," Sharon told him. "You're not here because you've done anything wrong."

"I told you," Brenda murmured to him. "Sharon has questions for all of us."

He still looked wary. "What sort of questions?"

"Did Chief Johnson tell you where she was going after work?"

She got a "yes" from Andrea and a tight nod from Gabriel.

"Were you approached by anyone wanting to know her whereabouts?"

Two no's.

"Has anyone attempted to discuss the Phillip Stroh case with you?'

"Not without cause," Gabriel said, and Andrea nodded her agreement.

"But..." Andrea frowned at Brenda, then glanced at Sharon. "We were having lunch in the break room when she took your call, and we weren't alone in the room."

"I wasn't talkin' that loud, for heaven's sake," Brenda protested, but she looked a little worried.

Sharon caught Gabriel's eye, and she thought he almost smiled. "Who else was there?"

"Well..." Andrea rattled off the names of three DDA's, the only one of whom Sharon recognized was Emma Rios. That left two, then—whatever conflicts she and Emma had, they both wanted Phillip Stroh on death row.

"Besides Emma Rios, do either of these people have connections to the Stroh case?"

A look passed between Brenda and Gabriel. He looked thoughtful; she looked suddenly worried.

"What?" Sharon asked. "What is it?"

"Chief..."

"I remember, David." Brenda's face had twisted. "He wouldn't give me the time I needed to build my case against Stroh."

"Is this man involved in the prosecution of Phillip Stroh now?" Sharon asked.

They looked to Andrea, who shook her head no. "Not that I know of."

"Still." Sharon looked at them all. "I am very, very interested in meeting this man. This afternoon, if possible."

"I can be very persuasive, Captain."

"Mm."

"Will that be all, Captain?" When she nodded, Gabriel turned to Brenda. "I'll wait for you outside."

Brenda sighed as she watched him leave.

"How are you doing?" Sharon asked her quietly.

"I think I slept more'n Fritzy last night." Brenda's lip twitched, but she held her smile. "I'll be fine. It's you I'm worried about."

"Welcome to the botched assassination club." Andrea smiled without humor. "I'll take you out for a drink when this is over with."

Sharon stared out into her squad room in time to see Sanchez hang up his phone in frustration. "I look forward to it."

**September 3rd**

**3:30 PM**

Sharon had made him go to school.

Rusty was still fuming about it when he walked into the police station with his backpack slung over one shoulder. How messed up was that, really? Someone had tried to kill her, and he'd had to go to school and listen to Father Michael drone on about the early days of American government like nothing had happened. He wondered if she would accept "I was worried about you" as a valid reason for not knowing which constitutional amendment was which on his quiz tomorrow.

Probably not. Sharon was like that.

At least he knew the fifth.

And then to make matters worse, Kris had been trying to get his attention all day. She'd apologized for telling Emma about the letters but insisted that she'd only done it because she'd been worried about him, and there was nothing he could do to make her see that if she'd cared about him then she should've left it alone.

But in his heart, he knew that it was his fault more than Kris's, and he missed his friend even if he didn't miss all the questions about whether or not they were dating. He still wasn't sure how that had gotten so out of control.

Buzz was waiting for him outside the murder room. "Follow me, please."

That was all the hello he got, and Rusty felt his stomach do flip-flips.

"Why?" Rusty tried to look past Buzz towards Sharon's office, but the blinds were drawn. "What's wrong? Is Sharon okay?"

None of the squad looked happy, he noticed. Detective Sykes gave him a little smile as he passed her desk, but Lieutenant Provenza sat at his desk with his arms folded and his eyes fixed on Sharon's office. His crossword puzzle sat forgotten before him.

He rose and followed them towards the electronics room.

"The captain is fine," Buzz told him in a low voice. "She's in a meeting right now. We're going to the electronics room."

"Meeting?" he repeated, as Buzz hurried him down the hall. "With who?'

"To start with, three DDA's."

"Emma?" Rusty turned to glare at the closed off room.

"Trust me, you don't want to go in there right now." Buzz ushered him into the electronics room. Lieutenant Provenza closed the door and hovered behind them.

Rusty took the seat next to Buzz, drumming his fingers anxiously against the desktop. "Is she really okay?"

"Aside from being here in the first place?" Buzz rolled his eyes, and that made Rusty feel a little better, actually.

"She made me go to school."

"I'd have, too," Buzz said, adding pointedly, "Especially after reading your last English essay."

"Hey, you said it wasn't that bad." Rusty frowned, folding his arms. "And I can't help it that MacBeth is boring, okay, that's Shakespeare's fault."

"You could've at least spellchecked it yourself," Buzz told him, as stern as Buzz ever sounded. "What are you going to do when you go to college?"

Rusty shrugged, not because he hadn't thought about it but because he had, and no matter what Sharon told him, he just wasn't sure that he'd be going to college next year. He'd apply like she wanted, and on his desk at home he had a list of schools that had caught his interest, but—how was he supposed to go to college across the country when Phillip Stroh's trial was set for next year?

Even if he stayed in California, even if he went to school right here in LA, who knew how long the trial would be? How much time would he have to spend in court? What was he supposed to do while it lasted?

But those were things he didn't want to talk about with Buzz, Sharon, or anyone else, so he just nodded and gave his best effort at a smile. "Yeah, you're right," he said. "Why waste your time when I have a computer to think for me, right?"

"Come on, Buzz," Lieutenant Provenza said impatiently. "Let's get this over with."

"What are we doing in here, anyway?"

Buzz sighed and handed him a sheet of paper.

"Do you know this man, son?" Lieutenant Provenza asked him. "Does he look familiar at all?"

Rusty frowned at the sketch. "This could be a lot of people."

"Okay," Lieutenant Provenza said. "Buzz, next."

Buzz reached to turn on his monitors. "The captain wants to know how many of these people you recognize."

The screen showed the conference room. Rusty frowned at the picture while Buzz settled back into his seat and rotated the camera around.

"Brenda," he said. "I know her."

"Doesn't everyone," Buzz muttered. "Anyone else?"

"Creepy Emma," he said. "DDA Hobbs. That guy next to Brenda, I know him."

Beside him, Buzz stiffened.

"Gabriel?" Provenza said, in a funny tone.

"I guess," Rusty said. "I don't remember his name. But he owes me a hamburger."

Buzz relaxed. "Just one more person."

The camera turned again, focusing on the face of the man sitting between Sharon and Brenda. A man with expensive suits and a cold face. The hairs on the back of Rusty's neck rose, and his stomach roiled.

"Oh, _shit_."

"You know this man?"

"It's him," Rusty whispered. "It's him, it's him."

Lieutenant Provenza's hand settled on his shoulder.

Buzz leaned forward, into the microphone. "Rusty can ID your suspect, Captain."

Alarmed, Rusty looked at Buzz. "Does he know I'm here? Because he can't know I'm here. He really, really can't."

"He doesn't know you're here," Provenza promised. "The captain is coming now."

What the hell was he going to tell Sharon, because of course she was going to ask and then he was going to have to tell her the truth, and and and...

And then Sharon was there, standing in the doorway with an unreadable expression on her face. "Give us a moment please."

Rusty stared longingly after them as they left the room. He'd much rather be going with them than bracing himself for all the questions he knew were coming.

Slowly, moving stiffly, Sharon lowered herself into Buzz's empty seat. "Are you all right?"

He hadn't expected that one. Rusty blinked. "Doing great. Awesome."

She sighed, and pointed at the screen. It showed a still capture of the man's face. "You know him, Rusty?"

"Who is he?" He hardly recognized his own voice.

"Why?" Her voice was sharp.

"I... know him," he ground out, and felt the urge to be sick again.

"Where from?" Sharon touched his arm.

"From chess club," he said, and he was doing it again, lashing out when she was only trying to help but it was easier that way. "Where do you _think _I know him from?"

Her fingers tightened around his wrist. "You're sure? Absolutely sure?"

Some faces he remembered more than others. "Who is he?"

"He," Sharon said grimly, "is DDA Garnett."


	4. Tears

**Warnings:** This chapter discusses Rusty's past as a sex worker.

**Other Stuff: **I watched episode 5.07 of The Closer the other day ("Strike Three") and the name of the tattoo artist they question at one point is Adrian _Beck._ I feel like someone should use this as a plot point.

Thank you as always for your comments (you are all the nicest people) and the next chapter should be up early next week. It might be the last one, or I might split it up into two parts. I gave in and hopped aboard all the ships (Tumblr, I hate you) so after I wrap this one up I guess I'll write some romance, IDEK. The only pairing I have an actual idea for at the moment is Sharon/Brenda and it's angsty as hell, so I guess I'll start with them and by the time that's over with I'll probably have ideas for other pairings.

**Monsters Old and New**

**rosabelle**

**Chapter IV: Tears **

**September 3rd**

**4:00 PM**

"Do we really have to talk about this?"

It was a desperate sort of question, and Rusty knew the answer even before he asked. Memories of the life he thought he'd put behind him whirled around in his head. He tugged at his collar. Scratched at his neck. His skin crawled and there was a funny taste in his mouth.

He and Sharon watched each other over a table in the break room. She made that nervous curling motion with her fingers.

"I understand if you don't feel comfortable talking with me," she said, and he thought she might've even looked a little relieved. There was a pen in her hand, and she tapped it against the blank notepad before her. "I won't be offended if you'd rather talk to someone else."

That left no room for the option he really wanted to take, which was not talking about it at all ever again. Rusty stared down at his lap.

"Do you need to know what we..." His face felt hot. "What we did?"

There was a heavy pause.

"Rusty," she said at last, and waited until he looked at her. "All I can promise you is that I will never be the one to ask you those questions."

He folded his arms.

"Would you rather talk to someone else?"

Rusty looked at her then, really looked at her, the way he'd been afraid to the night before. Her face was creased with exhaustion. The edge of a bruise peeked out from under her collar. She'd hung her jacket from the back of her chair and the outline of a bandage was visible against the thin silk of her blouse.

It was his fault, for trying to keep the letters secret.

Rusty shook his head. "I'll talk to you."

She hesitated. "Are you sure, honey?"

"I'm sure."

"Okay." Still, when she took up her pen, she tapped it against her lips for several moments before she asked him anything. "Mr. Garnett was one of your... dates?"

"Yes."

"Did you see him more than once?"

Rusty clenched his teeth and nodded.

"How many times?"

"Just a couple." He curled his hands into fists. "But I remember him. He... liked things. Things I didn't do. He'd come around every once in awhile. I'd tell him to get lost. The end."

Sharon stopped writing. That would be one of those things, then, that he was going to have to answer later.

Rusty leaned forward, forehead resting against his hands.

So they needed to know. Okay. It was important, he got that. But—Sharon thought he was a good kid, and that meant a lot to him even if he knew it wasn't true. If he told her everything, she would be upset and disappointed, and he didn't want to see that in her eyes every time she looked at him.

It just wasn't _fair,_ and being old enough to know that life wasn't fair wasn't any help.

"Okay," Sharon said, and cleared her throat. "Did he ever threaten you?"

Rusty shook his head. "I hadn't seen him in awhile, before... before everything that happened."

Sharon set the pen down and folded her hands atop the notepad.

"What?" he asked. "Is that it?"

"For now."

Rusty swallowed. "Are you going to make me testify against him too?"

Sharon sat back and fixed him with that stare he swore saw right through him. "Do you want to?"

"What do you think?" he muttered. "I know you're trying to help, Sharon, but..."

But if she arrested everyone he'd ever been with, he'd be in court for the rest of his life.

He couldn't tell her that.

"But you said I wouldn't have to answer questions about anything I did that was illegal."

"And you won't," she assured him, and the breath rushed out of him in relief. "As it is, we don't have enough to charge him with anything."

That killed it, a little. "Not even for the attack on you?"

"He wasn't driving the car," she said, "and we haven't recovered the vehicle yet but none matching the description is registered in his name. There's no real evidence against him."

Rusty hugged his arms to his chest. "Does that mean you have to let him go?"

He should tell her.

"He was never under arrest." Sharon shook her head. "I don't want him to know he's a suspect until we have something a little more concrete."

"So... he'll get away with it." The words were bitter in his mouth.

"Maybe."

Rusty stared at her calmness. "But he could've hired someone to kill you."

"We're exploring all our options," she said, and he noticed again how tired she looked. "And...Rusty, for whatever it's worth—whatever happens, whatever anyone says, I believe everything you've told me."

He didn't cry in front of people. That was one of his rules.

He couldn't look at her anymore.

"And..." There was a little quiver of hesitation in her voice. "If you ever change your mind about therapy—"

"No shrinks, Sharon!" He rose and paced. It gave him something to do, and anger kept the tears at bay for now. "I already know how fucked up I am. I don't need a doctor to tell me too."

"You're not fucked up."

He'd never heard that word from her before, and it startled him into silence. Her smile was knowing and short-lived.

"I've found that sometimes it helps to have someone just listen."

He hesitated. "You've been to therapy?"

She gave him a small nod.

The fight left him and only then did he realize how tired _he_ was, too.

"Why?" He narrowed his eyes at her. "Did Jack hurt you or something?"

"What?" She looked honestly surprised. "No. Well, yes, but not the way you meant and no, that's not why. Look," she said. "I'll make you a deal. If you'll agree to honestly consider it, I'll tell you the whole story. You don't have to agree to go. Just... agree to think about it."

He hesitated, leaning forward over the back of his chair. "I just have to think about it?"

"That's right."

"I... okay," he said uncertainly. "As long as I don't have to agree."

"Even if you do," she said, "you can always change your mind afterwards."

That made him feel a little better.

Slowly, he nodded. "I'll think about it, then."

"I'm glad," she said quietly. "And I'm proud of you."

He wished he could always count on that.

Sharon stood and raised her arms silently, and Rusty stepped into them. She made a funny little sound in her throat when he hugged her and he tried to step away because he knew she had to be hurting still, but she held on until he relaxed.

Rusty couldn't remember the last time his mother had held him.

He hid his face in her neck like he was her child, and he cried.

And she held him through all of it, cradling the back of his head and smoothing his hair like she was his mother.

He had to tell her.

"Sharon," he whispered, and gathered his courage. It was fragile, and it was small. "There's something else."

**September 3rd**

**8:00 PM**

"Have you been cryin', Captain?"

Until her throat was raw.

"Of course not."

Brenda shut the office door behind her and came to set her absurdly large purse on Sharon's desk. She rummaged through it with difficultly, in the end emerging with a packet of tissues and a Ding Dong. The tissues she offered to Sharon, and the Ding Dong she unwrapped with her teeth.

Sharon blew her nose. "Why are you still here?"

"People are askin' the same thing about you." Brenda perched herself on the edge of Sharon's desk, and Sharon was too tired to argue. "My poor car's in no condition to drive, and Fritz is off runnin' down whatever lead you gave him. What was it, anyway? He sounded all agitated."

Sharon shook her head. "He'll have to fill you in."

She'd gone through it with Rusty, then again for Fritz, and she didn't have the heart to do it a third time. She peeked through the blinds. Rusty was tucked away at the spare desk in the corner, a textbook open in front of him and a pencil in his hand. He looked... not okay, but well enough, and that was as far as either of them would get today.

"That bad, huh?" Brenda fished through her purse. "Here."

Instinctively, Sharon caught the chocolate bar Brenda tossed at her.

"I know, I know, you go home and you have a glass of wine," Brenda said, when Sharon hesitated. "And you know I appreciate a good Merlot—or even a bad one, sometimes, but I don't go around carryin' bottles of wine in my purse, so it's all I got."

Dark chocolate and almond pieces. Nothing too artificially flavored or sickly sweet.

Sharon tore open the wrapper. The first nibble was rich and bittersweet, and despite her lack of appetite, it helped, somehow.

"Somethin' to last til you get home." Brenda swung her legs. "And speakin' of gettin' home, you should."

Sharon took another bite and chewed slowly. "I can't leave now."

"You've got a whole room full of good detectives right out there who'd do anything for you. They can handle this." Was she mistaken, or was that jealousy lacing Brenda's voice? Before she could wonder at it, Brenda continued. "Fritz might be awhile, and you don't have enough evidence to arrest anyone. Even if you did, he's never gonna talk to you. I hate it when they're smart."

"He'll talk," Sharon said. "If we have the right leverage."

"I'm guessin' no one will be in the mood to give him a good deal."

"Who can say?" Sharon sat back in her seat. "He may very well end up being the FBI's problem. Either way, it's less than he deserves."

Brenda frowned at her around her last mouthful of chocolate.

"Come on," Sharon said. "You think I don't want to shoot him myself?"

Brenda swallowed, then stared at her in open-mouthed surprise. "That'd be against the rules," she said at last.

Sharon almost smiled.

"Yes," she said. "It would be."

"I've never seen this side of you before."

"I'm just full of surprises." Sharon slid her hands into the pockets of her jackets. It was one of her tells, she knew, and it was harder to do when she was sitting down, but it was an old, calming habit.

"He's never lost in court," Brenda said, fidgeting with her legs again. "Not even once. He never took on a case he knew he couldn't win."

"If I didn't know better, I'd think you were worried."

"Just know what you're up against."

"Oh, I do."

"Wishin' you'd stayed in FID?"

"No, actually." Sharon closed her eyes as she tilted her head back. She was so, so tired.

She heard Brenda crumple the Ding Dong wrapper in her hand. "You mind if I come in again tomorrow?"

"Since when has what I wanted _ever_ factored in to what you actually did?"

"Since..." Brenda hesitated. "Since there's a reason that this is your office now, instead of mine."

Sharon opened her eyes.

"Hm." Her phone buzzed against the fingers still in her pockets. "Hold that thought," she said, and answered. "Agent Howard, how nice to hear from you."

"Captain Raydor," he said, loud and clear over what sounded like a great deal of commotion in the background. "Thought you might be interested to know that your suspect is now in federal custody."

She let out a carefully controlled breath. "That _is_ good news."

"I assume you need to speak to him?"

"Oh, yes," she said, her fingers curling around the edges of the phone. "I've got a whole list of questions that I'm just dying to know the answers to."

"In the spirit of cooperation, the FBI will make him available to you. Tomorrow afternoon."

"Thank you."

"Good night, Captain."

Sharon breathed a little easier as she hung up the phone and slid it back into her pocket.

"Good news, then?" Brenda prompted, when she sat in silence afterwards.

Sharon closed her eyes again. "They got him."

"He talkin'?"

"Didn't sound like it."

"Maybe you can win him over. Tomorrow?"

Sharon nodded without looking. "Tomorrow."

It sounded so very far away.

"I'd order you to go home if I could." Brenda sounded worried.

"No need for that," Sharon said. She stood on weary legs. "I'll be leaving. Do you need a ride?"

"Probably," Brenda admitted, sliding off of the desk. "Thank you."

Sharon gave her a small nod and a smaller smile, and went to collect Rusty. Tomorrow would come soon enough.


	5. Monsters

**Warning: **This chapter references/alludes to the sexual abuse of children. There are no descriptions but be aware.

**Notes:** This is not the last chapter after all. It was supposed to be but the section where Sharon and Rusty have their talk about therapy just _will not end_, so that's its own chapter now, and I'll post it in a few days. Thank you as always for your comments. Ten days to go!**  
**

**Monsters Old and New**

**rosabelle**

**Chapter V: Monsters**

**September 4th**

**9:00 AM**

The soreness was supposed to be the worst on the second day.

Sharon had taken it in stride. She wasn't prepared for anything else about today to be pleasant, after all, and given the choice, she would rather get the worst of it over with all at once. So she'd gotten out of bed and limped to the closet, and then she'd made her coffee extra strong and driven Rusty to school.

He'd surprised her with a hug before he'd left the car. It was brief and one-armed, but it was more than either of her children were willing to be seen doing in public at his age.

And, she'd admitted to herself, she'd needed it as much as he had. She'd grown colder with each mile she'd driven towards the station, and by the time she'd entered the murder room she was entirely aware that she looked downright icy.

Buzz had brought her a cup of coffee without being asked.

The one in her hand now was the third refill. It was lukewarm now, but it was enough—it was more for the sake of having something to do with her hands, and she sipped it as she hovered closely over her squad.

"Detective Sanchez," she said crisply, pivoting on her heel to face him. "What can you tell us about Mr. Garnett's finances?"

"He put almost everything on his credit card, ma'am," he responded instantly. "But he's made several cash withdrawals over the past several months."

"Good," she said. "Now, do we have any idea where that money was going."

"All of these withdrawals were within three days of when each letter was postmarked, but we still have no idea who the dirtbag was paying. You can ask the idiot later." Flynn's posture said there was more to the tirade, and Sharon held up a hand to still it.

"Thank you, Lieutenant," she said.

That was what she worried about. She had only one card to play with him, and there was no guarantee that it would work.

There was no deal waiting for him. She didn't intend to fight the FBI for Garnett, and even if she did there was no one at the DA's office kindly disposed towards him. Besides, the FBI could do far worse to him than she could. He'd deserve every bit of it and more, and it still wouldn't be enough.

There was a bitter taste in her mouth that had nothing to do with the coffee. The conversation she'd had with Rusty had tumbled around in her head all night; what little sleep she'd managed to get had been restless and light. He'd sworn he'd had nothing to do with it, that he'd stayed away when he'd realized what Garnett had wanted.

She'd told him that she believed him. And she did, mostly, but if not Rusty then a hundred children who could have been him, and there was precious little that she could do for them.

Sharon fluttered her hand anxiously. "What else do we have?"

"I think I have something here, Captain," Sykes said. Her desk was hidden beneath a mountain of files, and she waved one in the air triumphantly. "We're still sorting through DDA Garnett's cases, but two months ago he offered a deal to a Jason Miller on manslaughter charges. At the time of the deal, Miller's cellmate in jail was—"

"Let me guess," Provenza interjected, from behind his own pile of case files. "Phillip Stroh."

"The one and only."

"That's the missing link between Stroh and Garnett, then," Sharon said. One more piece of the puzzle fell into place, and her heart beat a little steadier. She found it within herself to smile at the young detective. "Good work, Amy. Why don't you and Lieutenant Tao pay Mr. Miller a visit? See what he has to say for himself."

"Sure thing, Captain." Sykes grinned widely at Tao, bouncing on the balls of her feet as she stood. "I'll drive."

Lieutenant Tao could be heard muttering "God help me" as he followed her towards the door. Sharon shook her head after them. She'd been told that Sykes could have a promising career in getaway driving if she were so inclined.

"Let's all hope that Mr. Miller is feeling talkative today," she said, watching her two people walk out of the room, "but in the meantime... keep looking, everyone."

**September 4th**

**11:45 AM**

The knock at her office door startled her; she'd drawn the blinds when she'd retreated inside.

"Come in," Sharon called. She hoped for Detective Sykes or Lieutenant Tao.

But what luck they'd had in the morning had run out, it seemed.

"Captain Raydor."

"DDA Rios." Sharon looked up from the papers she had been poring over. Phillip Stroh wasn't much of a pen pal. He wrote mostly to his mother, letters that professed his innocence and reassured her that he would be free soon. Nothing useful, and if there were answers hidden in there somewhere, they would have to wait. She motioned Emma inside. "Please come in."

"You..." Emma cleared her throat. She hugged a file to her chest and shifted from foot to foot in front of Sharon's desk. "You're looking better."

"Thank you." Sharon indicated the chairs with a wave of her hand. "Sit, please."

"I've prepared the deal you wanted." Emma said. She held up the file. "All I need is a name."

"I hope to have one for you shortly."

"Are you sure about this, Captain?" Emma pressed. "Really?"

"If you want to wrap this up today—"

"I do."

"—Then this is our best chance."

Emma sat back in her seat, looking unhappy. She tucked her long hair behind her ears, bracelets sliding around on her wrists. "I realize that you and I..."

"We have our differences," Sharon supplied, watching Emma cast around for a tactful way to state the obvious.

"Yes," Emma said. "But I would like to ask... do you intend to question DDA Garnett?"

"I do."

Emma's lip curled. "I'd like to watch that interview."

"Ah," Sharon said. "Did you work closely with him?"

Sharon was familiar with betrayal. She'd seen it often in FID. She felt it personally when police officers broke the law and abused their authority, even when she hadn't known them. She'd seen the faces of the good officers who and put their faith and trust in their partners and had it broken.

"Not so much," Emma said. "But I saw him around often enough, and I'd like to know why."

"Yes," Sharon said. "I understand."

This time when their eyes met, something flickered across Emma's face. Something softer than she usually allowed to show.

If they'd been on better terms, Sharon would've asked Emma if this was the first time a fellow lawyer had turned criminal. Because whatever else she thought of her, she could easily imagine a younger Emma charging forth out of law school with aspirations of saving the world until reality proved harder than good intentions. She could imagine that this blow would be more devastating if this were the first time that it had happened, but it certainly wouldn't be the last.

But they didn't trust each other enough to have that sort of conversation, so they watched each other in contemplative silence until there was another knock at the door.

"Come in," she called.

"Sorry to interrupt, Captain." Detective Sykes poked her head into the room.

"It's no trouble," Sharon assured her. "How did it go?"

Some of her burdens grew lighter when Sykes smiled, and far too innocently. "Jason Miller was feeling talkative today."

"He admitted passing information from Stroh to Garnett, then?" Sharon asked.

"He sure did."

Sharon let her breath rush out in relief. Emma winced but hid it well, and she couldn't help but feel a pang of sympathy. She'd only been hoping that her colleague might turn out to be innocent after all.

"More than that," Sykes went on. "He gave us a name. Andrew Tate."

Another little bit of luck. Sharon would take what she could get.

"And where is Mr. Tate now?" she prompted.

That smile again. "Interview one. We picked him up on our way in, and you'll never guess what kind of car was in his driveway."

Another knot of anxiety in her stomach loosened. Sharon stood, inclining her head in thanks. "Good work, Detective. With me, please. DDA Rios, this shouldn't take long, if you want to observe."

The nervous young man who awaited her in the interview room was a match for the description Brenda had provided. One more piece fell into place, and when Sharon smiled it was only halfway forced, the other half being relief.

"Good morning, Mr. Tate," she said. "I'm Captain Sharon Raydor, and you've already met Detective Sykes. Have you been informed of your rights?"

Without waiting for a response, she nodded to Detective Sykes. "You have the right to remain silent. Anything you say can and will be used against you in a court of law. You have the right to an attorney. If you can't afford an attorney, one will be appointed to you by the state."

"Thank you, Detective." Sharon turned back to Tate. "Have you heard and understood these rights?"

He stared back at her sullenly. "Yeah."

"And you are choosing to at this time waive your right to counsel?"

She looked him straight in the eye. Sweat touched the edges of his forehead and he fidgeted with his hands, his legs bouncing beneath the table, but he tried to stare her down. Sharon crossed her arms and narrowed her eyes, not forgetting that this was the man who had put her and Brenda in the hospital.

He blinked, and looked away.

She didn't. "Answer the question, Mr. Tate."

"Yeah, whatever, lady," he said, folding his arms and affecting an air of nonchalance. "I didn't do anything wrong."

"How fortunate," she murmured. "These should be easy questions, then."

Beside her, Sykes muffled her snort with a cough. "Mr. Tate, where were you the night before last at approximately eight thirty?"

"Don't know," he said, but Sharon watched his eyes shift from side to side. The vibration from his leg bouncing against the table only increased. "I can't remember."

She seized her chance.

"Might you have been in your car, parked outside of—"

"Home," he blurted out, now drumming his fingers against the tabletop. "I was at home."

"You were not at home, Mr. Tate," she said calmly, "and in the future when you lie to the police I advise you to pick one story and stick to it."

Out of the corner of her eye, she saw Sykes smile.

"I should inform you that the DA's office has agreed to charge you with a lesser offense instead of attempted murder, provided that you tell us the truth and do so _right now,_" Sharon went on, keeping her voice low and firm. "So let me ask you again, where were you the night before last at eight thirty?"

He hesitated, all motions stilling. "You got that for me in writing?"

Sharon leaned closer, speaking firmly. "I do."

**September 4th**

**2:oo PM**

"It seems that, despite overwhelming evidence against him, Mr. Tate was acquitted of date rape three years ago," Sharon said, her throat tight with anger.

"Lemme guess," Brenda muttered, sitting before Sharon's desk with her coat folded in her lap. "His lawyer was Phillip Stroh."

"Would you believe it?" she said with bitter sarcasm. "They kept in contact, though he said they'd had no contact after Stroh's arrest. Until three months ago, that is, when a man he could identify as DDA Garnet showed up at his apartment and reminded him that he owed Phillip Stroh a favor."

"And money. Can't forget the money." Brenda ran her hands through her hair. "Y'all gave him a deal?"

"Ten years."

Brenda considered that. Sharon watched her and worried that, despite Brenda's earlier support of the deal, that she would change her mind now. It wouldn't be entirely unjustified. She'd been the one shot, after all.

"No," Brenda said at last. "No, that's okay. I think I'd be willing to be shot again if it would be evidence against Phillip Stroh."

Which was something else that worried Sharon sometimes, because Brenda had always been spectacularly narrow-minded when it came to Stroh and it had been all Sharon could do to keep her employed once. And then it had turned out not to matter, when Brenda had gone and taken matters into her own hands, but just as they had all finally moved on _this_ had happened, and she could only hope that it wouldn't breathe new life into Brenda's one woman crusade.

"Let's just hope that it doesn't come to that." She looked apologetically at Brenda's arm. It was no longer in a sling, but she wasn't moving it much and either way, Sharon was sure that it was still painful.

"I saw Fritz waitin' in the hall on my way up," Brenda said. "Have you decided what you're going to say to Garnett?"

Sharon pressed her fingertips together. "Oh yes."

Brenda gave her a look, then her face softened. "Fritz told me."

Sharon bowed her head against her folded hands. She'd seen and heard terrible things before—LAPD officers abusing their power in awful ways that made her go home and hug her children tight and sometimes left her unable to sleep, but some things one never got used to.

It was the smallest of mercies that the FBI had found no pictures of Rusty.

Sharon lifted her head and stood. "I presume you'll want to watch the interview?"

Brenda gave her best effort at a smile. "Why, Captain, do I make you nervous?"

"Of course not." Sharon went to the door. She held it open for Brenda before following her out of the office.

Brenda left her at the electronics room. She opened her mouth as if to speak, then changed her mind and laid her hand on Sharon's shoulder instead. It startled them both, a little, Sharon thought, because the two of them weren't really given to physical affection with each other.

Times had certainly changed, for their eyes met in perfect understanding and neither of them said a word. Sharon touched Brenda's arm and turned to go. Behind Brenda, she could see Emma Rios already sitting beside Buzz at a monitor.

Fritz Howard waited for her outside the interview room. "Captain," he greeted her.

"Agent Howard," she responded. She paused, adding more softly, "Thank you for letting me question him."

"I hear you arrested the man who shot my wife."

"You heard correctly."

Something in the set of his shoulders relaxed. He gave her the briefest smile and a nod, and opened the door for her. She strode inside and he followed her.

The man sitting at the table now was not the sharply-dressed man who had sat at her conference table the day before. This one was nervous, though he hid it well behind arrogance. Sharon found herself, for the second time that day, in a staring contest that she had no intentions of losing.

"Mr. Garnett," she said. She'd spent thirty years perfecting her appearance. From the pitch of her voice to her hair, the high heels, even the way she folded her hands—she had designed herself to be intimidating, and she drew on that now. She sounded frosty to her own ears. "You've been informed of your rights and are acting as your own counsel, is that correct?"

"I," he said at last, "am exercising my right to remain silent. I won't be answering any of your questions."

"That is absolutely your right, as you well know. And you know what, that's fine, because I have _plenty_ to say to you." She leaned forward, never taking her eyes from his face. "I am not here to offer you a deal, Mr. Garnett. You belong to the FBI and they're charging you with possession and distribution of child pornography. Maybe they'll offer you a deal if you cooperate. I'm told you don't lose in court. Maybe your luck will hold. I don't know, I don't care, and whatever happens to you after you leave here today will be far less than you deserve."

Her voice was rising in anger. Sharon paused for breath. "I'm here for one reason, and one reason only, and that is to offer you the chance to take Phillip Stroh down with you."

For another long moment, they stared each other down and again, he was the one to lower his eyes.

It should have felt like a victory when he nodded.


	6. Hope

**Monsters Old and New**

**rosabelle**

**Chapter VI: Hope**

**September 4th**

**4:30 PM**

He always waited for the patrol car inside. He'd sit on a bench near the doors and pretend to play games on his phone while keeping both eyes alert and scanning for the telltale black and white. Then he'd rush out the door as quickly as he could without actually running, head up, daring anyone to say something. No one ever did.

Today, though, he left chess club to find a message from Sharon waiting for him. _Parked around the corner. Look for my car._

He wondered how long it had taken her to type.

And then it occurred to him to wonder why Sharon was here herself, and this time he ran without caring who saw. Because Sharon was never free on a weekday afternoon so it must be important, and if it was important... His feet slapped against the pavement to the rhythm of his heart in his chest. Was she here to tell him that she couldn't keep him safe?

He slowed when he saw the car, parked where she said that it would be. He studied Sharon through the windshield, trying to gauge her mood by her expression. Her eyes were on her lap, but her face was relaxed, and instead of the suit she'd put on that morning she was wearing a deep green shirt and blazer. And jeans, he saw, as he came around towards the door. He wasn't sure what it meant that she was here and dressed so casually, but his apprehension held as he rapped on the window for her to let him in.

"Hey," he said cautiously, sliding into his seat.

There was a book in her hands and that reassured him some, because when was the last time he'd seen her read?

She turned to set it on the backseat, and then she looked at him. "I would've waited around front, but I remember that when my children were your age, they preferred that I provide them with food, shelter, clothing, transportation, and discretionary funds from a distance. It was too embarrassing, otherwise."

Rusty was never sure how she wanted him to respond when she spoke of her children. He knew how much she loved them.

"You must never have sent a police car to pick them up, then," he said at last. "You're at least five times less embarrassing than that."

"Is that meant to be a compliment?"

"I thought you had a tremendous capacity for ingratitude or whatever." He was breathing easier, he noticed, responding to her calmness. Rusty took a deep breath and braced himself for the worst. "So, um, why are you here? Is everything okay?"

She laid her hand on his shoulder, and he knew everything would be all right when she smiled. "Everything's fine, honey."

She told him everything as they sat right there in the car, how Phillip Stroh had once represented a man who had implicated DDA Garnett as an accomplice. He'd lost that case, in the end, but he'd sat on that information and taken advantage of it when cornered. How he'd passed a message to DDA Garnett through his cellmate, instructing him to help Phillip Stroh find his way out of prison. And, finally, how DDA Garnett had admitted as much before confessing to what they already knew.

When she reached the end of the tale, they sat in sober silence. Rusty folded his arms across his chest and stared out of the window while Sharon quietly radiated anger and sadness and something else.

"What happens now?" he asked.

"Well," she said, "they both have prison to look forward to. As to what will happen with Phillip Stroh... I don't know. We'll have to wait and see."

"More waiting," he muttered.

"I'm afraid so. I don't like it any more than you do."

"But I get to stay with you?"

Sharon nodded.

That was the thing. He could deal with anything else, as long as he could keep his home, and her.

"Okay," he said. "Good."

"In fact..." Sharon smiled at him again. "I think it might be safe to lift some of the restrictions on you."

Rusty stared when she pulled the keys from the ignition and offered them to him. "You're letting me drive your car?"

"I want to be sure you remember how," she told him. "Before you take the spare car to school tomorrow."

She'd never let him drive her car before. He eyed the keys in her hand.

"I can take the car again?"

"You may."

"Can I run the siren?"

Her fingers curled around the keys.

"Kidding," he said, and she dropped the keys into his hand with a look filled with equal parts affection and warning. That was a rule not to break, then.

When he stepped out of the car to change places with her, they were of equal height. Rusty blinked and glanced at her feet. Her heels were shorter than usual and that was funny, because he must've seen her barefoot in the apartment hundreds of times and he'd never once noticed that he was taller than she was.

"I thought we might go out for burgers," she said as she snapped her seatbelt into place.

He looked at her sideways. "You don't even like burgers."

"You do," she said. "And I believe I owe you a story."

The therapy thing. He should've known she wouldn't let that go, not after he'd promised to consider it. But he _had_ promised, and if she was keeping up her end of the deal... "You're bribing me?"

She just smiled at him in answer, and Rusty sighed. "Where to?"

"You pick," she said, and settled back in her seat.

He brought them to a little out of the way diner. Quiet enough that they could talk, loud enough that no one would overhear the conversation. It wasn't his favorite place, or even in the top ten, but he didn't want the best places tainted with this memory if the conversation didn't go so well and the food was good enough, anyway.

He asked for a soda. Sharon ordered coffee, and stared into it for a long time.

"What do you want to know?" she said at last.

"What happened to you?"

She wrapped her fingers around the mug. "Nothing happened, exactly. There was no one traumatic experience, just a... slow build up of many little things over time."

"What sort of things?"

He was pressing, he knew, and even if she'd promised to tell him, he still felt little pinpricks of guilt for the look on her face. It was unhappy and pained, and her shoulders hunched inwards as if she wanted to protect herself.

At last she said, "Everything I'm about to tell you I've only ever discussed with my therapist and my priest, and I ask that you not repeat it to anyone."

"I'm not going to _tell_ anyone, Sharon." He couldn't help but bristle at the accusation—hadn't he spent hours and hours trying to argue his way out of testifying because he wanted to keep his secrets his own?

"I felt for a very long time that I'd failed my children," she said, her voice low and halting. "Because I believe very strongly that children deserve loving, involved parents and I was unable to provide them with that despite my best efforts."

Rusty frowned at her. "That wasn't your fault."

"Still," she said. "After Jack and I separated, they saw him very little, and I worked long hours. I was unable to be there for them the way I wanted to be."

She paused, and he was bursting with questions that he didn't ask because he wasn't sure that she would open up again if he interrupted. And then he thought of the uncomfortable queasy feeling that swelled in his stomach every time they talked about Kris when he wondered if this would be the time she asked _are you_, because then he would have to lie and he didn't want to do that to her, and he thought that maybe some of the things he wondered were things he had no right to know.

"Then," she continued, oblivious to his train of thought, "there were a lot of reasons I transferred into internal affairs, and none of them were because I thought it would make me well-liked. I knew what I was signing up for, but it was still very... difficult, sometimes, to be always investigating my fellow officers." Her lip curled and he wondered what she was thinking about, but she didn't elaborate. "That wore on me after awhile."

"So you went to a therapist."

"Eventually." She nodded. "I resisted the idea for a long time."

"Why?"

"Because," she said, and raised her head at last to give him a pointed look. "I always knew that the overlying issues could be fixed. That wasn't a question. But I had become someone I didn't like, and I was afraid there was no solution for that."

Oh.

Rusty flinched, and stared down at his hands. He couldn't look at her.

He knew what he'd done, he'd told her once, and he knew why he'd done it. And that was true. But it wasn't so easy to accept, and when he thought of himself before compared to after... he was hurt and he was angry, and he knew he lashed out at her sometimes when she didn't deserve it just because she was there and he needed to scream. Because if he let go of the anger he was afraid of what he would find underneath.

"Think about it," she said gently.

When their food came, Sharon just picked at hers, and Rusty felt a little guilty about that too. She really didn't like burgers and he was prying into her personal life on top of that, but... On the other hand, she'd gotten what she'd wanted, because he was mulling it over while he ate.

"You think it would help?" he asked, twirling a french fry through ketchup. "The therapy."

"I do," she said. "In time."

More waiting.

Rusty was tired of waiting. He wanted things to start _happening_.

"How long does it take?"

"Weeks," she said. "Months. Eventually, I forgave myself. I forgave Jack. Mostly. And life went on. Time helped, too."

It was a little easier now, than it had been before. Now that he knew he could trust her. She wouldn't beat him or threaten him or starve him, and he went to bed every night knowing that he wouldn't be woken by fighting in the middle of the night.

But there were still things that he carried with him everywhere he went, and she was right about that too. It was wearing on him.

"Why didn't you make me go?" he asked. "If you're so sure it would help."

"Because," she told him, "I was afraid if I pushed you it would do more harm than good, and I would lose you. I didn't want you to feel cornered. I wanted you to have some control over your life."

"Oh."

No one could ever accuse her of not knowing him.

"So," she prodded. "You said you would think about it."

"Yeah." He stared down at his hands, stained with grease and flecks of ketchup. "I did."

"There's nothing wrong with testing out different therapists until you find one that's a good fit," she said. "I'll give you a few days to think about it, okay?"

He nodded, but part of him had known the moment that he'd agreed to her her out, this would would end with him agreeing to see the stupid shrink if he could just talk himself to doing it.

"Thanks," he said, and he hoped it sounded as sincere as he meant it. "For telling me."

Sharon smiled at him over her coffee cup. It was tight-lipped and strained, and he wondered what memories she'd dredged up for his sake. "Of course, honey."

"I really will think about it."

"I hope so," she said, and gently added, "But whatever you decide, I want you to know... I'm proud of you, and I love you."

"I—I know." Her words wrapped around him like an embrace. He swallowed, suddenly awkward for all that he treasured it. "It really does get better?"

"It does." She nodded. "But sometimes, Rusty, it's not just about getting better. Sometimes, it's about having the skills to cope with the bad days, because there are always going to be bad days."

"You have bad days?"

She gave him a patiently amused look. "I would say I've had a bad couple of months."

And he thought, again, of how withdrawn she'd been after Jack left, and the lines that had been around her face these last few weeks after everything with the letters, but she still went about her day like nothing was wrong and talked with him about school and... he'd like the ability to do that. To work through the bad thoughts and the memories and everything else, and to just get up and keep living.

So he did what he'd promised her, and he thought about it. While he argued with her over ordering dessert, while he drove them home and only _almost_ worried her twice, while he studied for the history quiz he had to re-take because his teacher thought the third amendment was worth knowing after all.

And while he was teetering on the precipice of the decision that he wasn't quite ready to make, there was another, smaller one that he was.

Not ready enough to tell her himself, but ready enough that he thought she should know.

After she'd gone to bed for the night he left the note taped to the bathroom mirror, where she would be sure to see it when she woke in the morning.

_Sharon—_

_Love you too._

* * *

**Closing Notes: **... Huh, that's not the ending I had in mind _at all_ but IT'S FINISHED and it's finished before the hiatus ends and maaan, the odds were _not_ in favor of that happening.

I'm working on a couple of things right now_—_there's one story where Sharon and Brenda get drunk together after Jack leaves (laugh, cry, or laugh so you don't cry are the options here and I'm still debating between them) and another where Rusty runs away from home so Sharon and Provenza have to go find him, plus a couple of longer things. Hopefully one of these will be posted, um, soonish.

Thank you thank you thank you for all of your wonderful comments. It's been awhile since I've had this much fun in fandom, and you guys are seriously the best people.


End file.
